


Rosewood

by PersephoneWillowsnapper



Series: High Green [1]
Category: The Haunting of Hill House (TV 2018), The Haunting of Hill House - Shirley Jackson
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-10-11 21:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17455019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneWillowsnapper/pseuds/PersephoneWillowsnapper
Summary: When the sky turns strange colours, close your eyes. It is best not to see.





	1. out of the woods

_And what if there was a reason. A reason that they seemed near intoxicating. Something about the way they moved through space. A command of time and sound._

_An omniscient voice always on the edges of  the walls. Four walls, eight, twelve.  Always on the edges._

_There was just something about that family. Or not family._

-

“It is so cold here, what the hell?”

“I know,” she sighed and pushed another box out of the entry way with her foot, doing a double take to tilt her head and search for a 'FRAGILE' scrawled somewhere. "I know, and I warned you about that, a couple of times actually."

Warren huffed with eyes taking on a middle-distance stare that let her know the next few words out of Warren's mouth (if she was that lucky) would adopt a monotonous drone that never stopped being infuriating. “You know what will help warm up? Helping me with these boxes.” She arched a brow in the teenager’s direction and a thank you echoed from the hallway as the red head made her way to the truck in the drive way.

“This better be worth it,” she muttered to herself, shivering in the large airy kitchen-  three walls of windows, fantastic view across the valley and the lake and off towards the shoreline. Now, there's a faint mist lingering across the mid-line of the trees but the lush colours make up for it.

“Your phone was ringing but I really don't think you care.” Warren slides it across the counter top and breaks her internal musings. She pulls back from the windows and regrets it the second her eyes see the name on the screen.

“Not today Satan.” she silences the ringing and pockets the phone. “Boxes?” she fakes cheerful and Warren rolls her eyes but falls into step with her anyway.

“Your studio has the most insane view, the lighting must be exactly what you've always wanted,” the younger girl muses, breaking the terse silence that lapsed between them as they tossed throw pillows onto couches and pushed boxes of books into a room. The room's walls are lined with shelving and there’s an oddly painted bay window: yellow, vibrant and in stark against the rest of the wood and muted tones in that room. Warren gently places a box marked 'FAMILY' on the desk and holds her breath that it won't buckle under the box's weight. A beat passes as the two silently watch the table shudder, heave, and then settle.

“Good sign?” Warren points to the now sturdy table.

“I think so.” her aunt nods and checks the time. “While I am excited about the new kitchen, we have nothing except for marshmallows, apples and two jars of peanut butter. And toilet paper.”

“One,” Warren corrects her, “I got hungry when you were on the phone to Stefan. We may also be out of crackers."

“Right,” Olivia shrugs into her trench coat, looping the bright red scarf around her neck with one hand and curling her fingers around her keys with the other, seamless. “Sushi?”

-

Warren is not surprised or disappointed when their new 'downtown' is without a killer sushi spot. Olivia is vehemently opposed to The Cheesecake Factory which Warren still thinks is a bit dramatic. One food poisoning, one time. Although her aunt is never sick, many a wicked hangover has informed Warren that vomiting and Foster family members do not go hand in hand. Or even hand in foot.

So, they end up in the quintessential diner on the corner of 5th and Elm and Warren cannot help her ever active imagination from envisioning their evening as the beginning of either a Stephen King novel or a David Lynch film.

“Can you at least pretend to be interested in my company for 15 minutes?” her aunt snarks at her over the top of a menu. A cheese burger and extra crispy fries are all she would want anyway so the menu seems a pointless accessory to hyper simulate their benign evening. “Sorry,” Warren is earnest as she places the phone face down on the table, “I just wanted to double check if there was a Mulholland drive nearby at all.”

Her aunt rolls her eyes but laughs all the same. Her eyes flicker over Warren's shoulders, wondering but not catching on anything in particular.

“You really don't remember this place, not even a little flicker? Of something?' she tilts her head to the side, wide hazel eyes searching Warren's own. The teenager shrugs and pulls her diet coke closer. “Sorry, no,” she murmurs around her straw. The waiter catches her eye from across the room and quickly makes his way over, the way he pulls the notepad from his waistband and has his pen poised at the ready before coming to a complete stop at their table gives Warren the impression he's been transplanted here from a film (something _noir_ , smoky, lots of code names and falcons that aren't falcons).

“Warren.” Olivia’s voice is clipped, and she shakes the unsaturated smoke-filled image from her head.

“Sorry, didn't want to keep you waiting because it is definitely busy for a Friday night,” she remarks dryly and pretends to scan the menu. Her aunt kicks her under the table and she offers the most pleasant smile she can muster. “A burger, no onions. And curly fries? Please and thank you very much." The boy shakes his head slightly, a crooked smile poking around his features before he tucks their menus under his arm and heads for the kitchen.

“You are such an asshole. He's cute. You could have made a new friend!” her aunt waves her hands with a frenetic energy that makes Warren press the utensils into the table top.

“That's what this is all about, making new friends?” Warren presses, needles just at the x on the map.

“Fine.”

A silent moment that stretches in and out between them.

“Be a teenage brat then.”

Warren clocks her jaw to the side and drums her fingers on the table. The food arrives and while both are polite and gracious to their server they never break eye contact. “Dammit,” Warren hisses when a laugh that she can't contain bubbles up and into the air. The atmosphere changes and her aunt grins at her and winks at the waiter who blushes and ducks behind the counter again.

“You're not like the other aunts, you're a cool aunt.” Warren recites with a snort.

“I know. Trust me, the various PTAs have all found a way of letting me know. Did you call your dad?” she bounces from script to script so easily it still catches Warren off guard.

“Did you call your ex-husband?” she fires backs.

“No way in _hell_ is that you?”

Warren's head spins around so quickly her chair rocks and pitches to the side. A distinct voice hit the air with a frequency Warren was certain this town hadn't felt in years.

"Clara?" her aunt is out of her seat and sweeping the blonde into a fierce embrace in seconds and Warren's head is spinning to try and catch up with everything. The three of them sit and Clara has an easy rapport with the young, now incredibly flustering waiter which only pushes Warren to ask more questions. “I’m the guidance counsellor at the school, there's a basketball game. It’s just for fun between the team before they break for summer. Hence, the dead quite kitschy diner.' she smiles at Warren warmly over the rim of her glass.

"Guidance counsellor?" her aunt questions.

She waves it off as a long story and is only semi-satisfied when she gets the same answer to the question of where Warren's aunt has been for the last decade. “This place is weird.” Warren comments as they shrug into their coats and her aunt comes back with a receipt and a loyalty card.

“Yeah. It is,” Clara nods in agreement and pushes her chair back into its correct table place. “Liv is going to get a kick out of this one too,” her eyes light with something Warren doesn't know what to make of. She's not at all in disagreement when her aunt suggests Clara come and see the house. She is mildly surprised when Clara jumps into the car with them and she realises her aunt's old friend will be staying with them, not just poking around the foyer and complimenting the kitchen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have multiple HoHH drafts in a folder but this one seemed the most convoluted so I figured 'hey, try and write yourself out of this one'. The Crains will arrive shortly. Also, I took Foster for Olivia's surname because of the Salem Witch trials so... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	2. night shade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horace means well but his actions have consequences Olivia does not appreciate. Clara has only ever tried to protect her, keep an eye.

_Fire._

_Salt._

_Heat._

_-_

"A house is like a body. Veins, arteries, passageways and staircases. They all mean something and lead somewhere, they're all of use yes, but of vital importance to the life and beating of a heart, the whole body-"

"Where's the brain?" Warren remembers her younger self cutting across her aunt's loving monologue, genuine and curious. She shakes her head at the memory before pushing open the back door to join Clara. 

"I hope I didn't wake you." Clara sat on the porch steps looking out across the great expanse of green and water the house faces. Built into the hillside just so, not a cliff face carved from stone and wooded canopies, the house sits naturally into the incline. Unlike the surrounding houses in the neighborhood there was nothing forced or standout about it (until you walked inside). The front door was pretty special though, a bright blazing red. Hard to miss even in the dark.

"You didn't. Coffee?" she offers the older woman a steaming mug and sits herself beside her on the steps. "You smoke?" Clara waves a hand, nonchalant, "been quitting for a while now but apparently I'm really good at it." She laughs at her self just a little and then remembers she's talking to a teenager and straightens. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Don't mention it. So, you've known my aunt for a long time." she looks straight ahead and feels Clara's eyes on her. "Do you know... are you..."

"Sensitive?" Clara asks quietly. 

Warren's eyes are wide when she turns to nod dumbly at the older woman.

Clara Dudley nods and puts her mug beside her before inviting Warren into a history and a future that is theirs to share.

Warren learns more that morning than she thinks she will ever remember. Clara and her aunt have been familiars for generations it seems. Whether in the town or across the world, spanning continents their connection is vibrant and they push each other, and often call one another home. They share the stories that Warren has heard about for so long but wondered if she would ever get to see come to life before her. Her family was weird and she had known that long before she came to be in her aunt's life as a permanent house guest.

It was one thing to know that level of oddity existed in the bloodline, it was quite different to see it in technicolor with her very own eyes.

-

And honestly it feels like she's missing a limb. A piece of her sliced clean away. There was no tugging, no bleeding or gnawing nerve twisting pain. Just air.

And air is moving freely, loose and fresh, brushing against her body in place of an arm. A ghost. A spectre of a past life that she never remembers living but feels stolen from her all the same.

“Olivia? Something on your mind?” she blinks back into being and her eyes snap to a pair of green orbs staring back at her, mild amusement stretching their lips into a grin. “No. Nothing. Just spaced out for a second there. More wine?” she pushes herself off the chair and swings the blanket over her shoulders while padding across the patio.

“Hmm. I've heard that excuse before girl and it didn't fool me then. Still isn't working now,” Clara hums to herself as Liv retreats inside. “This is gonna be a fun year that's for sure.” she laughs around the rim of her glass and tilts her head back to watch the stars painting the cloudless sky.

“Talking to yourself again there?” his voice makes her jump just enough for him to bark a deep rasping laugh. He shakes his head and takes off his cap, setting it on the table before kissing her hello.

“I'm trying to figure when is gonna be the best time to share the news.” Before he can speak Olivia reappears and sets the bottle down. Curling into her chair she looks between them and her glass. She narrows her eyes at them and reaches for the bottle.

“Good choice.” Horace comments lowly. He glances between the two women before nodding and quickly making his way across the porch and inside. “Good night. You two have a nice chat,” he waves at them with a weird smile-not-smile from behind the patio door and if Olivia had felt strange before, the cold pulsing down her neck had set her nerves on edge. “Ok, what the hell was that all about?”

Clara sips her wine and regards her friend for a moment. Olivia watches her, searching for any hint as to what was about to come out of her mouth next. Clara leaned forward and knotted her fingers together, wringing them slightly before exhaling and holding her open palms out before her. “Clara wh-“

“Hugh Crain is in town and Horace needs him to help at the school and he said yes. He has no idea. Knows nothing.” It comes out in a rush and Olivia just blinks at her.

A clean slice and off fell her arm. Left her painless but tilted, shifted just slightly to the side, subconsciously working to counter for the imbalance.

“Well. Fuck.” she lifted her glass to her lips. “Yep. Well. I'm going to kill your husband.”

Clara nodded quickly, “That's understandable.”

She eyed her friend for a moment too long.

Olivia shook her head, “He knows nothing because he didn't want to know anything. I kept up my end of the deal. And Warren has no idea. I want to keep it that way, she's too young for this Clara.”

Clara shakes her head sadly and shifts closer towards the edge of the couch “Liv, that's not-“

Olivia cut her off with a raised hand and a pleading in her eyes “Not right now. Not... Not yet.” Her voice is small and tearful. All Clara can do is get up and move so the two of them are squeezed onto the single seat holding on tight.

-

_Fire._

_It was a fire, not a knife._

_The fire ripped through her and cleaved her life not in half but in fragments. Disjointed puzzle pieces held together by a thread. A line_

-


	3. red vines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I turned round and saw the sky. It was red and all my life was in it.” ― Jean Rhys

Warren lurches up and forward in her bed so quickly her head spins. Her fingers are numb when she tries to untangle herself from the blankets twisted over and around her body. Her back is damp with sweat and her chest feels light, as if a weight was lifted from it too quickly. Her eyebrows knot together when she hears faint barking. Her legs are shaking just slightly as she pads towards the window, gingerly reaching to push the shades to the side so she can see.

There is no dog. 

One probably got loose from a house down the street, she tells herself. She nods firmly, reassuring herself before quickly getting back in bed and wrapping herself tight in the blanket. 

The migraine that sent her to her darkened bedroom has eased but the dreams that come with them are never subtle. 

When she closes her eyes the darkness is drenched in red. 

-

_Hill House_

_-_

We have to get out of this house.

“I know what you're thinking but I think you should just hear me out on this one. It might actually be something amazing that we will all laugh and laugh about in time to come.”

She turns and looks at him with a wrinkle between her eyes that only deepens when she hears the pitched yapping coming from the hallway.

“You didn't.”

He holds up his hands-guilty.

“No Hugh you really didn't.”

“Wait come back your supposed to be a surprii- oops.”

Luke looks between his parents and knows better in the infinite wisdom of 5-year olds than to even try and speak to his mother at that moment. “Bye”, he turns on a heel and runs back towards his siblings while Liv bends and holds out a hand to the excited ball of fluff on the kitchen floor. The puppy eagerly bounds towards her and happily yawns when she lifts it up for closer examination.

“You did.” she regards her husband with an expression levelled as a judge on the bench. He would have thought the game up until the puppy yapped and lunged forward to sniff at Liv's face. She couldn't not laugh, and half groaned when it sniffed and promptly started chewing her hair.

“My scalp was just getting used to not being under constant assault,” she murmured, turning the pup around and walking it into Hugh’s arms.

“I can explain?” he tries, tilting his head sideways just a touch and gauging her reaction.

“Yeah. No. Don't even try at this point but Hugh-“

“We have to get out of this house I know. I know. I’m working on it.” His jaw clenches and his eyes look anywhere but at her.

She sighs. They were solid. Exceptional. Over achieving. Terribly smart. Ambitious. And achingly kind. But this house may be their undoing. For a split second a nebulous of colours bursts before her eyes, settling over everything in her vision like a sandstorm winding itself down to ruin. Everything is red. Not warm, not lustful. Just red- hurting, bleeding and taunting.

“Liv!” he calls for her and the puppy growls, or at least tries to. She shakes her head, the vision clears, and the colours are gone. She can see, but she can't see. Things are muted, and she knows- she knows this isn't stress or burn out or anything else that could be explained, rationalised. This house, it isn't rational, and she hates it. They all do. Though Hugh is reluctant to admit defeat he isn't stupid, and he has never been one to brush her off. Although there had been a time when she wished that he just would, and she wouldn't have to try and imagine a life without him after a life with him.

Everything is heightened here. But they don't feel it all. Just some. It is maddening.

“You can't-“ she stops when his eyes seem just a touch distant and she sweeps her thumb over his forehead, her eyes searching his face calling to him silently _come home love_.

“I can't bring the ocean here but I’m pretty sure these are the next best thing. And it was going to happen eventually. Big back yard. Kids out the door. We'd need someone else to run through all that space, roll in the grass.”

“Shit in your work boots?” she wiggles her eyebrows at him and there is a profound sense of relief when they both laugh. He holds the pup to his eye level and she is almost certain they have a brief conversation before he sets him on the tiles and straightens, catching her by the waist and easily finding her lips when she falls into him. Calm. Grounded. That makes better. She pulls away a little breathless and frames his face in her hands. He has a very kind face, open but full of secrets and riddles that she still puzzles over and out of. And he is quite tall. Although most people are tall in her eyes Hugh Crain played basketball and found a gym to channel his confusion and rudderless energy into when intoxication wasn't an option. Tall and broad, well-built and warm.

“What?” he probes gently, leaning towards her and placing warm kisses down the side of her face until she hums and arches toward him. Closing her eyes, it is calm finally in the endless maze of whispers and rattling in this old house.

“Mom! You have to see what dad brought home. Look!” Five moons orbit a planet with a tide never as predictable as the charts tell you.

She keeps her eyes closed and he kisses her forehead firmly.

“We're getting out of this house, Liv.” he whispers, determined, solid, just a touch angry.

She'll take it.

With a grace she didn't know she had that day she easily turned and laughed fully at the site of 5 siblings and 3 puppies sitting on the kitchen floor completely enthralled with a cardboard box.

Shirley pauses and stands to go eye to eye with her father. Copies of one another from the beginning Liv watches curiously from her cross-legged position on the ground, grateful she threw on old jeans because those puppies have teeth to come out. She swats at the snout with the heart shaped marking on it and pushes the pup towards a quiet nell who is excited but terribly cautious. Puppies and tea parties. Certainly.

'Where is the mom?' Shirley gestures towards the box and presses her lips together. Steve’s ears perk up at the question and he eyes his own mother while Theo studiously traces the edges of the cardboard.

'So, the thing is...' Hugh trailed off and Olivia wanted with all of her being for him to finish that sentence in the next breath. “The thing is that sometimes puppies can be a lot and they need to get ready for playing without their mom around all the time so... I’m picking her up tomorrow once these guys have a chance to get settled and she can join them, and they'll show her around.” he finishes with a flourish that falls just slightly.

“We have to get out of this house.” Theo breathes barely above a whisper, but Steve and Olivia hear it. Steve searches his mother's face for something and she nods firmly, scooping a pup into her arms and pressing a kiss to the top of its head.

-


	4. anemone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'anemone: mid 16th century: from Latin, said to be from Greek anemōnē ‘windflower’, literally ‘daughter of the wind’... thought to be so named because the flowers open only when the wind blows.'

"Are you sure you're OK?" Warren doubts very much that her aunt is being honest with her but doesn't know how else to say it without blurting out 'your ex-husband is an asshole and surely he should know you're not that into him if you ran away after two months of marriage'. However, she's been getting better at not saying absolutely everything on her mind out loud. It is a practice and she is getting better at it- most of the time. She kind of wished she had been better at it yesterday in the diner when Mike had asked her about the book she was reading.

"I'm sure. Thank you, honestly. I'm fine." Olivia sniffs, again, and nods firmly before kissing Warren's forehead and sitting at the island.

"Sure." Warren huffs and rolls her eyes, "I'm going to the library. What time is dinner?"

"7:30, and Clara can get you on their way if you want. Save you coming back up the hill?"

Warren shrugged and grabbed an apple from the bowl. "I probably won't be that late, and I'll have my bike so it will just be awkward to fit in the car."

Olivia raised an eyebrow, knowing without it being said that the bike what the last thing to make interactions between Warren and the Dudleys uncomfortable.

_"The dreams.. they're just… so real and I can't go back.”_

“Olivia. Liv!"

Warren waved a hand in front of her aunt's face and shook her head, "Yeah, sure. You're fine."

"I might just take a nap. Or walk the dog. Jessica's dog from down the hill." Olivia blinked herself awake and moved around the counter to put a kettle on to boil.

Closing the door, Warren decided that not telling her aunt her that conversation with the painfully charming Hugh Crain was a good idea after all.

-

“This town is very odd.” Warren pushed a blueberry from one side of her plater to another and drummed her fingers against her chin. “Since we moved here I’ve been having the weirdest dreams I can ever remember having. It’s just weird. I dunno…” she shrugged and glanced toward Ben for confirmation.

“Do remember your dreams? I’m pretty sure we don’t remember them…” he clocked his head to side before his face broke into a wide smile at something over her shoulder.

“Mr. Crain, coffee?” he gestured to the empty seat beside Warren.

“He makes a good coffee. Definitely the only place around here where an espresso is actually an espresso. Mind if i?” Hugh Crain is a tall, well-built man with the most striking blue eyes Warren has ever seen or read about. They are something indescribable that she puzzles over for days, and nights and years. Yet, his charm is disarming. How is he at once put together but still fumbling and awkward.

“Yeah sure, go ahead.” Warren slides her book bag from the counter to the ground, ignoring the thud it makes and turning back to her half-eaten pancake stack.

“Do you remember your dreams Mr. Crain?” Ben sets the coffee on the counter with a small flourish and Hugh nods a thank you. “Warren was just saying-“

“He doesn’t need to know, Ben.” She interrupts sharply and avoids eye contact with them both, “I should probably go.”

“My aunt used to tell us when we were kids that bad dreams were just like cups of water that spill sometimes.”

Warren raises her eyebrows at Ben who looks equally confused and turns to look at Hugh who sips his coffee with a grin that twists slightly from what Warren assumes is embarrassment.

“Oo-ook. Thanks for the input,” she offers her hand. “I’m Warren, nice to meet you. I think you know my aunt, Olivia?”

Hugh Crain looks her in the eyes, but he sees nothing but seven lifetimes ago and a wife and a house and five children drenched in red and black mould and a buzzing that doesn’t stop. He shakes Warren’s hand but drops it like he’s been burned. Warren’s eyes grow wide when she sees the vivid scar lacing his knuckles. It looks as if it will begin to bleed despite the deep scar that formed while it healed, and flesh knitted to flesh.

The bell jingles and the door slams, Ben whisks himself away with menus and a friendly smile. Warren shakes her head and feels unsettled. But Hugh Crain is light. Well-built, an unassuming generic type of man that Warren imagines her aunt commenting on as ‘nice, but terribly boring.’

“Sorry about that, I forget that it can be something gross when you’re not used to it.” Hugh shrugs and lays his hands on the counter top before picking his coffee back up.

Warren tries to think of something to say but for once in her life her smart mouth is dumb and all she can muster is a weak smile before she clears her throat to redeem herself.

“You, uhm- you aren’t so big on hand shakes then?” She finally asks, shaking her head in annoyance at her own stupidity. Hugh just chuckles quietly before murmuring around the rim of the mug.

“For some reason I get the feeling that you’re not exactly the world’s biggest fan either.”

Warren weighs up her options and quickly makes a decision that she knows will most certainly makes things more awkward between her and Dudleys and could potentially put her aunt in a foul mood for months.

“Tell me about Hill House.”

The mug clatters to the counter while Ben returns and drops a mop and bucket to the tiles with a ringing thud. Hugh shakes his head and Warren watches his hands ball into fists.

“Please. I need you to tell me what happened in that house. That night.” She holds his gaze and reaches her hand out towards him. Hugh looks between her hand and the rest of the diner before shaking his head.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He reaches for his wallet, leaving ben a generous tip and moving briskly toward the door.

“No! Wait, Hugh!” Warren rushes behind him and almost collides with a stroller, tripping over her own feet in her haste to catch him before he gets into his truck.

“Hugh!” her shout hits a pitch that makes him stop. Letting the door close he leans against it, resting his forehand against the window for a second before he turns to face her. “Please?” she’s surprised at the waver in her own voice and swallows the lump quickly forming in her throat.

“You don’t have to tell me. You can just…” she trails off and holds her hands out before her, palms facing up.

“Why don’t you go get your bike, put it in the truck and I’ll give you a ride home. It’s going to start raining and your aunt will be worried.” He pulls out a cell phone and offers it to her. “Call Olivia and tell her you’re coming home.”

-

He says nothing and doesn’t even look at her for the duration of the drive. She gives him directions but has a feeling that he knows exactly where they’re going anyway.

Her aunt sits on the steps leading to the front door, it stands out even as daylights begins to slip away. A bright red door calling them home. Olivia waits until the engine is turned off and Hugh pushes the driver door open. Slowly, purposefully she makes her way down the steps.

“You lead the way.” He tells her from the doorway, finally breaking the steady silence between them. Warren fumbles with her belt and huffs in frustration when Hugh waves her away from pulling her bike out of the flatbed. She walks toward her aunt and the words come spilling out of her mouth in a rush before she can stop them. Olivia holds up a hand to quiet her and her eyebrows knot together when she catches Hugh idling by his truck, lightly kicking the tyres of Warren’s bike and avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Your ex-husband is an asshole and you’re miserable. I don’t understand why you won’t talk to him if he can help, if he understands everything that...  I don’t know- “

“Warren. Enough.” Olivia’s voice is sharp and in the background, Hugh straightens his shoulders. Olivia doesn’t bow to anyone. “You can’t just bike around turn and hitchhike home with strangers, especially not some old man you met at the diner. Come on.” She’s exasperated and weary.

“He’s not a stranger. He’s Hugh Crain!” The words burst out of Warren with an anger she didn’t know she held in her. Immediately she softens. Stepping back and away from her aunt. Without a word or a glance in Hugh’s direction she runs up the steps and into the house, letting the red door slam behind her with a finality that sets Olivia’s nerves on fire and a cold aching feeling blooms in her gut.

She closes her eyes, tight, and does her best to ward off the whispers scratching at the edges of her temples. Her eyes snap open, startled, when Hugh clears his throat and slowly edges towards her, wheeling the bike alongside him. She actually laughs at the site or him. His work boots are caked in mud, his hair is longer than she imagined, and he is not quite the clean-shaven Hugh Crain she ran screaming from years ago. Her eyes are drawn to his hands, sure and steady as ever on the handle bars of Warren’s bike. The angry red gash still sits there, unbidden and loud as ever.

“Never a dull moment when you’re around Crain.” She muses, watching him as his eyes trail over her, the house, that damn door.

He shakes his head and clucks his tongue against the back of his teeth, warm face settling into a grimace. “I appear to be quite the trouble maker this time around. I’m sorry Liv, I just didn’t want her to get hurt. She’s just a kid, and she knows too much and not enough. I wasn’t going to… overstep, honestly.”

“I know.” Her smile is soft and sad as she moves closer to him. Ever the honest and unassuming man Hugh Crain had kept up his end of the deal. He stayed far and away from her, they kept the distance between them and forced themselves to follow different pathways winding further into woods and trees they recognised but could never call home.

“She has nightmares. And migraines.” Olivia practically whispers, afraid it seems to admit even to him that the plan didn’t work. The deal only made them miserable and exhausted. She just wants to go home.

“Liv.” He holds the bike in one hand and the other reaches for her, falling just short of her when she doesn’t move.

“I’m afraid to sleep. I’m afraid, Hugh. I have to keep her safe but what if I can’t, I already messed up with that stupid-.” She stops, and Hugh can hear a tiny sob catch in her voice before she steels her jaw and focuses her eyes on his boots. He lets the bike fall against his truck and steps into her space, gently folding his arms around her he hears the stuttering of her breath and feels the exhaustion rolls from her in waves to hit him square in the chest.

She is cold and stiff in his arms and it unnerves him. He doesn’t know what to do, how to fix this. They had a plan. They made a deal.

The sound of tyres crunching up the sloped drive makes her draw in a deep shuddering breath and pull back enough that she can peer around him. He just watches her, takes her all in.

“Liv…”

“I made dinner. For Clara and Horace.”

He nods and sets his jaw firmly, knowing that he’ll get nothing more. “You need to sleep, Liv. I mean really sleep. Warren needs…” he trails off and shakes his head, letting his arms fall from around her, he ducks his head just slightly, so she meets his eyes, “You need to sleep.”

A line stretches thin between them. They both feel it, a dare. Something calling out to them from far away and years ago.

“I’ll go. I’ll go and talk to Tommy. Sort it out, somehow.” He turns to go but she catches his hand, pulls him back towards her. She tilts her head to the side and offers a weak smile in lieu of asking the question.

“Yeah, we’ll sort it out.” He murmurs, brushing his lips just barely against her temple as they move towards the house.

-

_Acid._

_He could taste it in his mouth this time around. Every time he saw a sign, read a script, levelled a wall or knocked a window out. Sometimes, when it was windy, he’d taste it. Acid. Sharp and sour on his tongue, a strange bitterness that told him something had been left undone, untouched, unheard for too long._

_A stinging reminder of the fragments and pieces of a life loosely held together by a line._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i have saved the most logical section for the end, honestly.


End file.
